Tuesday 12 September 1939
Listened w Mother this morning to dreadfully dreary programme on wireless – 'Making the Most of a Wartime Larder,' w Mrs Arthur Webb. M likes Mrs W's cookery books but she is very dull speaker. (Mrs W, not M.) Even M thought so – fell asleep!

Later – Have decided not to tell either D or M about women joining police depts but did clip article.

No instructions from Women's Legion today.

•••••

Braithfield
Fullerton Road
Red Rice, Andover, Hampshire

12 September 1939

Dear Aubrey,

I hope that this letter finds you as well as possible and not too discommoded by the change in our circumstances. I do apologize for not writing to you more quickly after war was declared. As you may imagine, I have been much occupied with various matters close to home, not least the question of what war service my boys will perform. Of course I use the word 'boys' in jest. They are grown men, one of them a husband and a father, and it is hardly my place to meddle in their lives. Still, a mother worries.

An aunt may also worry, which is the real subject of this letter. I am sure that you will agree with me that our cause will require that every sound mind contained in an able body, of either sex, be put to use. For some this will be a tremendous burden; for others it will be as though they had been granted wings. There are too many young Britons whose gifts are not being adequately employed where they are and who until now have lacked the means or the impetus, or both, to change their situations. For young men, means and impetus will likely come in the form of conscription, or of course the impulse to volunteer. But many of our young women will require great reserves of will and persuasiveness in order to serve, as they will need the backing of their families, which for various reasons may not be immediately forthcoming.

Our Sam is one of those young women. As you know, Michael and I visited Lyminster for her birthday, and although she was her usual cheerful self I have to say that what I saw did not make me optimistic for her future there. She is expected at all times to be available to attend to Emma's various needs and wants; and because Emma cannot, or, as I am increasingly convinced, will not, perform the normal duties of a vicar's wife, Sam must undertake those tasks as well. This is no life for an intelligent girl of her years, particularly given the smallness and isolation of Lyminster. She sees no-one whom, and encounters nothing which, she has not known since infancy. Her skills as a carer, her excellent powers of observation, the remarkable physical courage and steady nerves that both you and I have noticed — all of these could be put to much better and wider use that they are now. If nothing else, let us admit that in her present situation Sam's prospects for finding a suitable husband are slim indeed.

I see that I have vented my feelings to a much greater degree than I had intended, to the point, essentially, of accusing Emma of malingering. Well, so be it: I have grown tired of pretense on this subject. I suspect that Iain and Emma would be quick to insist that Sam's stinted education leaves her poorly qualified for national service; but whose fault is that but their own? First Emma insisted that Sam could not possibly continue her studies alongside the villagers' children; then Iain refused, even with an offer of material assistance, to send her away to school, and admittedly a tutor was beyond anyone's means, leaving no alternative but for Sam's schooling to end at just fourteen years of age. It really is too bad!

There, I do feel a bit better now!

What I hope to do is to persuade you, along with as many of our brothers as I can enlist, to join me in convincing Iain and Emma to allow Sam to join either the Auxiliary Territorial Services or the new Women's Auxiliary Air Force or, if those prove impossible (as I regretfully but strongly suspect that they will), a private women's service organisation called the Mechanised Transport Training Corps, which received some attention in the press during the winter, shortly after it was organised.

You'll recall that my stepdaughter, Laura, joined the A.T.S. when it was relaunched last year; she was transferred in June to the W.A.A.F. and is now a Senior Section Leader. She tells me that neither branch of the forces is willing at present to accept any volunteer without a school certificate, and that matters are unlikely to change until — steel yourself, dear Aubrey! — conscription is expanded to include women (something that both Laura and Michael believe is possible and even likely). I cannot quite envision Sam in the Women's Land Army so you can see that the M.T.T.C. is the best place for her at present. There also seems to be a possibility that girls who successfully train for that group could join the A.T.S. in future.

There are two difficulties. The first is that the M.T.T.C. is purely a voluntary organisation, something that I must confess I had not fully understood when I first bought it up with Sam. Members receive no payment of any sort and must pay all of their own expenses, which in Sam's case would include rental, as for the time being at least she would have to move to London. The second, of course, is that Sam is still nearly a year away from her majority, so until then enlistment of any kind will require Iain's permission. Thus, we must secure two objects: Iain's consent (which is unlikely to come without Emma's blessing, I think), and a source of support for Sam. The latter, I believe, will need to be a group project. If each of the Stewart siblings' households were to contribute 5s. per week to defray Sam's upkeep, I think she would be able to live decently. As for the issue of consent, I have written to you ahead of any of the others because, being nearest to Iain both geographically and in age, you seem the most able persuader. I realise, of course, that your plate is likely to be quite full just now, but a carefully-worded letter to our dear Iain would be most helpful.

As for this letter, it has grown far longer than I had planned; thank you for your patience as I have unburdened myself. Michael joins me in sending his regards, and in asking to be remembered to the Harpers — what a grand time we all had at Easter!

Please do let me know what you think of all this.

Your affectionate sister,

Aemelia Braithwaite

•••••

'Your colour is much better today, Mother. Your appetite seems better than yesterday, as well.'

'Thank you, Samantha. Your father did cook luncheon, after all.'

Sam decides to change the subject.

'Do you think that there will be more air-raids like the one on Wednesday, Mother? That one was a failure, of course, and nowhere near here, but they might try again.'

'Oh, I'm quite sure that they will. People are saying "over by Christmas" – even your dear father seems to think so, to judge from his sermon at Matins on Sunday last – but that's what they said the last time. I'm afraid that this is likely to be a long war, perhaps longer even than the last; the Germans bear a grudge against us. We'll never give up, of course, but neither will they, until we force them to do so.'

'Do you think that the government will expand conscription?'

'I suppose that they might have to do that at some point, although men do seem to be volunteering.'

'It would be better to volunteer than to wait to be called up, wouldn't it?'

'Well... I suppose that from a moral viewpoint, yes, it would be. Unless it were a case of a man being his family's only support, or some other mitigating circumstance. You hardly need worry about that, however.'

'It might be better to worry now rather than later.'

'What ever do you mean? Samantha, the glare from that lamp is giving me a headache. Put it out, will you, please?'

'You never talk about what you did during the last war,' Sam continues, after doing that.

'I'd already been married to your father for several years when the last war began.'

Oh, yes, of course, Sam thinks. And constantly either with child or burying the ones who didn't thrive. How dreadful to have to think of that.

But she cannot bring herself to change the subject again.

'What about during the South African War?'

'I was a child then, Samantha.'

It's no good, Sam thinks. I shall have to simply ask her right out. 'What do you think would be the best sort of war service for me to do, Mother?'

'Oh. Well, yes, we ought to discuss that at some point.' Mother is silent for a moment. 'I do read the newspaper, you know,' she goes on. 'I'm aware that the Women's Legion isn't likely to be given much of a role. It seems quite odd that Lady Londonderry would be so much involved with setting up the body that it now seems will supplant it. You're the age that they want.'

Sam wants to explain that the A.T.S. isn't actually what she has in mind, but Mother continues speaking before she can say anything.

It's always like this, Sam thinks. She hears herself sigh and hopes that she hasn't done so too loudly.

'I have to say, though,' Mother is saying now, 'that I don't like the idea that you would be sent away somewhere. That's what seems to be happening to many of these girls.'

'Like Laura! Uncle Michael doesn't seem to mind.'

'Laura is a decade older than you are, Samantha, and has had more experience of life.'

That, Sam feels, is a bit much.

'Well, of course she has! She has an advanced school certificate, and a university degree!'

'You're right,' Mother says after a moment. 'I apologise, Samantha, dear. That was unkind of me. It must seem to you that I have missed a great adventure in life,' she continues. 'Perhaps you are right about that, as well, but it was simply never my row to hoe. Seeing the harm that the last war inflicted on so many of those who survived it, I actually felt quite blessed, in a way, to have been relegated to the sidelines, despite my own troubles during those years.'

'Do you think that this war will be worse than the last in that way, Mother?'

'I don't see how it couldn't be. Not that I wouldn't describe this as a just war. Far from it – it's much more so than the last one was. And I will concede, Samantha, that all hands are likely to be needed to bring us through it. We will talk with your father about some sort of appropriate service that you can perform. But I've yet to be convinced that girls like Laura won't be... damaged in some way by their experience. I take it,' Mrs Stewart continues, 'that you feel compelled to look elsewhere for an opportunity to serve.'

'The thing of it is, Mother,' Sam replies after a moment's silence, 'Lyminster is such a small place that there won't be much need for war workers here, or much opportunity. I would probably have to go away somewhere.'

'That is precisely what worries me. Who will look after me when I'm unwell? Far more importantly, who will look after you?'

'I'm almost never ill, Mother.'

'I wasn't thinking of illness, Samantha.'

Sam looks out of the window. She can't think of anything more to say.

Author's note:
Researching what Sam's cost of living would have been proved very challenging. I finally found a web page titled Wartime Money (taken down since then, it appears), that stated that the average household's weekly earnings in the UK in 1939 amounted to £3 17s., and in the absence of any other figures I am taking that as accurate. Sam will have only herself to support, so I am assuming that she can make do with less.